


Frailty, Thy Name Is Woman

by PipGirl



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Masturbation, Other, Unrequited, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipGirl/pseuds/PipGirl
Summary: Vulpes can't stop obsessing (or wanking) over the f!courier, even though she likes her boys a little...badder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt at the Fallout Kink Meme.

Vulpes Inculta had barely survived the attack on the fort. Half of him wished he hadn't.

He'd first seen her- the courier, everyone called her- in Nipton, when she had confronted him about the Legion's actions there. He hadn't thought anything of it then; she'd been only a potential messenger, and a woman, at that. When they began to get news of her actions across the Mojave, he grew more and more surprised that she hadn't killed him and all of his men, right then and there.

And the more he learned, he reflected, turning onto his back on his bedroll, the more impressed he became. Against all his judgment, the idea of this warrior woman began to grow on him. Even as he thought of her now, casual thoughts, casual remembrances, he felt himself harden. He fought this, too. Women served only as the vessels of a man's seed and progeny. The idea that a creature like her could stir lust in one as disciplined and dedicated as he- the thought turned his stomach.

All the same, his hand crept beneath the blanket and encircled his cock.

He pushed all thoughts of the damned courier out of his mind as he languidly stroked himself. A moment of pleasure, he told himself. Not a need driven by the mere thought of that woman. He rubbed his thumb across the head of his dick and it twitched. What was she, anyway, to catch the eye of one of Caesar's favored frumentarii? She wasn't worth his attention. She was beneath it. Just a plain, grimy little walk-the-wasteland profligate.

His grip tightened and his strokes quickened. As his stroke hit bottom, he caressed his balls with his fingers before sweeping them back up his cock. If she'd been there at that moment, he'd have taken her in the dirt, pushing her face down against the Mojave itself as he pulled her ass into the air and fucked her. His balls tightened at the thought. God, how he wanted to prove to her that he was the man to take her down, that no other man in the Mojave was the match for her that he was. His strokes grew quicker still, and now when his thumb brushed across the tip, it came away slick. He was so close, so fast, just at the thought of her. He disgusted himself, but he couldn't stop- couldn't stop thinking of her, couldn't stop pumping his cock to the memory of her.

But worst, worst of all when he did this- when he invariably surrendered to his physical needs like this- his memories of her would continue right up to the moment when he knew he would never have her.

The fort.

She'd brazened in, under Caesar's mark but bold as no woman had a right to be, arguing with the great man, defiant. Arguing about the fate of their prisoner, the profligate tribal, the Chairman. This woman who had let blood from one end of the desert to the other requesting mercy for the man who'd tried to kill her. Vulpes had already known from all reports that she was, according to wasteland standards, a "good" person, but such mercy to an enemy? It disappointed him.

But what she did next broke his heart.

She'd nearly wiped them out to a man, carving the way through them so that "civilized" tribal could escape. She'd risked her life and taken theirs to act as savior to her killer.

He pumped harder, his balls tighter now, and he suppressed the urge to groan aloud. The man in the next tent would hear. He put his hand to his own mouth and bit down, but began thrusting his hips, dragging the head of his cock up and down against the rough blanket.

Women. Only a woman would act so irrationally, and for only one reason. She belonged to that Chairman, had given her heart to him as only a foolish woman could do.

She had shown such promise. Why did she have to ultimately succumb to the frailties of her sex? She could have proven a fine wife to him. But even if she came to her senses now, he could never touch her knowing she'd lain under the likes of that Strip degenerate. She was ruined for any self-respecting man, certainly unfit to bear his children.

Still, had she suddenly developed some sense and judgment, he might have taken her as a slave, pushing her face down into the sand and fucking her like he did in his dreams. His cock throbbed as if he were doing just that. He imagined her fine, wide hips, her nicely rounded ass, her helpless cries as he eradicated all trace of that Chairman with his own scent, his own touch. The thought of her crying as he fucked her was what pushed him to the edge, and god help him, a sudden unwanted image of her lying with her thighs spread beneath the Strip profligate was what pushed him over. He came hard, biting his hand until it bled, and still a grunt and groan escaped him. Frantically he wrapped his bleeding hand around the head of his cock on top of the blanket, with the blanket caught between hand and dick, rubbing himself raw as he finished himself off. The cum soaking into the blanket was a balm of sorts, but the raw skin would still ache in the morning. Penance, perhaps. Or perhaps a way to discourage himself from doing this again until he healed. It was something he always told himself, but he never believed it. After all, it had never worked before.


End file.
